


Getting The Voices Out Of My Head

by I_was_BOTWP



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor, M/M, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-11-22 20:54:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11388222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_was_BOTWP/pseuds/I_was_BOTWP
Summary: A series of drabbles resulting from prompts within various groups I am a part of. Some angst, some fluff, some smut, some humor. Never know what you are going to get when I listen to the voices in my head.





	1. A Secret Kept

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I making an profit from the story. Everything I post in this series is un-beta'd, so please be kind.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: Ministry Gala, “Go talk to her already. You’ve been staring at her all night,and it’s starting to get weird”, Green dress, Jadeite necklace, “What if I kissed you right now?”

“What the bloody hell is this music?” Draco shouted over the _racket_ coming from the speakers set up around the edge of the ballroom.

 

This year’s Ministry Gala to raise money for preserving Centaur lands was unlike anything he’d been to before.  There was a theme, “Raising Gold for Greener Pastures”.  Who came up with such tripe?  There was a signature cocktail, a cucumber mojito.  What the fuck was a mojito?  And there was someone called a Disc Jockey, playing pre-recorded music, rather than a live band.

 

“It’s something Muggle,” Theo answered.

 

“Yes, I’d gathered that.  Thank you for enlightening me.” Draco rolled his eyes before turning away to survey the room once again.  He brought his drink up to his lips, nearly choking as he inhaled in shock at the same time as the alcohol began to slide down his throat.

 

“Is that Hermione Granger?” Theo absently thumped his friend’s back, while staring across the room and voicing Draco’s thoughts.

 

It certainly was, but Salazar, how she’d changed in the past ten years.  Ten years since she’d moved to The States. Fifteen years since they’d repeated their 8th year together.

 

“Who knew she looked so good in green?” Theo quirked an eyebrow as his eyes unabashedly slid down her form.

 

Draco thought, _I knew,_ but couldn’t voice that secret aloud.

 

Her slinky green dress clung to her in all of the right places.  What in Merlin’s name had she been doing in order to be so fit?

 

“Well, I don't see a ring on her finger, so I’m going over there,” Draco heard Theo say as he stalked away. The bastard surely didn’t waste any time.

 

Draco realized his drink was empty.  Where had it gone? _Mojitos aren’t half bad_ , he realized.

 

“Did you see Granger?” Blaise sauntered up beside him at the bar.

 

Draco sighed.

 

“It’s difficult to miss her dancing with our other best mate, isn’t it?” He tried to act nonchalant, just giving a cursory glance over to where Theo was doing an approximation of dancing with the woman in question to the horrendous music.  He gulped as Hermione laughed at something Theo said, tipping her head back, elongating her slender neck.

 

“It’s difficult to miss the rack on her too.  She’s got some sort of necklace on; I can’t quite see what’s on the chain.  Notice how it glints when the light hits the silver?  She’s hiding something down her decolletage. Guess there’s one way to find out what it is.”  Blaise finished his drink and set the empty glass on the bar next to Draco.

 

“Do you think the tosser has even looked Granger in the eyes once?” Pansy asked, now standing next to Draco, contemplating the way Blaise towered over the petite curly-haired witch he was dancing with.

 

Draco was sure Blaise hadn’t.  He was also sure Blaise had discovered it was a Jadeite necklace that hung down between Hermione’s breasts.  Did it mean something she’d shown up wearing a green dress and the necklace he’d given her?

 

Draco was using the loo when none other than Harry Potter came bursting in, dragging Ron Weasley by the arm.

 

“Are you barmy?!” The Man Who Lived yelled at his best friend, either not noticing Draco’s presence or perhaps wholly uncaring. “You can’t just walk up to Hermione after not seeing her all this time and ask her ‘What if I kissed you right now?’”

 

Draco snorted as he washed his hands.

 

“Something funny, ferret?” Weasley sneered at him.

 

Draco looked up, inspecting his reflection in the mirror, running a hand through his perfectly mussed hair. “Nope, nothing at all,” he smirked as he spoke, keeping his back to Weasley, eyes flicking momentarily to make contact with the other man’s reflection.

 

The redhead surprised Draco by picking up on the subtle disrespect.  He tried to move towards Draco, his fists clenching and face turning red.

 

“Come on, Ron,” Potter said, now dragging his friend back out of the bathroom.

 

When Draco once again entered the ballroom, his eyes darted around until they landed on her.  Oliver Wood was a surprisingly good dancer.  Or at least Draco thought he must be; it was difficult to tell what dancing to this type of music was supposed to look like. The Quidditch star’s hips moved in time to the beat, gyrating lewdly and closer to Hermione than Draco considered decent.

 

A unbidden memory of just how her hips were capable of moving popped into Draco’s mind.

 

Daphne materialized next to Draco as he looked back and forth between Hermione and the bar, contemplating in which direction to walk.

 

“Go talk to her already. You’ve been staring at her all night,and it’s starting to get weird.”


	2. Thoughts in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: Pansy Parkinson, ocean waves, “My thoughts are always the loudest in the dead of the night.”

He followed her out again. He knew she knew he was there, walking behind her. They had rowed about it once, years ago, the first time she caught him doing it. He’d refused to back down, insisting he would not allow her to be alone when she got in one of these funks. Since then, by unspoken agreement, he stayed a respectable distance back, while she chose to ignore his existence.

He wished she could chose to only do this on nights when plenty of moonlight shone to guide them. Life isn’t convenient like that, though. The overcast sky made tracking her form down the beach difficult. The ocean waves created by the incoming tide washed away her footprints with cruel efficiency. She preferred the feel of the sea swirling around her ankles, moving up to caress her claves as the water undulated. There had been occasions when she came home wet up to her waist.

Tonight, he followed her for nearly three hours, pausing only once. She spotted something worthy enough of inspection to cause her to exit the surf. She walked a few feet up onto the sand, bent over and picked up an object. He never found out what it was that caught her attention – she threw it out into the water as far as she could before setting off again.

They didn’t speak about what drove her to the sea. They didn’t discuss what she thought or felt as she walked. The only thing he knew came from that one time, now so long ago, when they fought. Pansy had told him, “My thoughts are always the loudest in the dead of the night.”


	3. The Apology, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: Narcissa Malfoy, inner monologue, front door, Hyacinth flowers, "You’re not obligated to speak to me, but I'm here to apologize"

Her heels tapped down the stone steps as the click of the front door sounded with finality behind Narcissa Malfoy. She moved with grace - a purposeful stride, head held high, and shoulders pulled back.

Nothing about her demeanor belied the inner turmoil. That was her way, and rarely did she deviate from it.

The small bunch of blue Hyacinth held in one hand were as impeccably arranged as her outfit and hair.

Those who truly knew Narcissa could see through the artifice, recognizing the strong desire to control all she could when so much around her remained out of control. Unfortunately, since the end of the war, the number of people who truly knew her had dwindled.

The Malfoy matriarch wished she could be as cold as society ascribed her. In truth, it was quite the opposite. Narcissa felt so keenly, and with such passion, cultivating stillness became her only hope of survival amongst the vipers.

Now, her face remained impassive out of habit, her eyes did not dart side to side, the hand clutching the bouquet did not tremble, nor did her steps falter, even as she yearned to turn back around and forget this errand.

Narcissa came to the edge of the wards around the manor, took a breath, which only shook the tiniest amount, and disapparated.

The pop which sounded as she appeared at her destination echoed in the still evening air, bouncing against the stones all around her.

The inner monologue of the words she wished to say roared inside Narcissa’s head, even as her shoes quietly swished through the dew-covered grass towards him.

Him. The man she had taken advantage of time and again. How to apologize for that?

Him. The man she had used without regard for his wants and needs. Could there ever be an appropriate apology for that?

Him. The friend who had sacrificed a piece of his soul to leave her son’s whole. No etiquette book outlined a precedent for that type of thank you.

Friend? Her inner monologue abruptly shut off as she thought more about that word. Had she ever been a true friend to him?

She reached him and looked down upon what the world could now know, the epitaph on his grave sending a clear message. Severus Snape had been so much more than she, or anyone, realized, far too late.

“Hello Severus. You’re not obligated to speak to me, but I'm here to apologize,” she addressed the ether, laying the blue flowers atop the ledge of his stone, hoping they conveyed the sincerity of her words.

“Hello Narcissa.”


	4. The Apology, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: creature of the night, "I can smell your fear from here", firewhisky, a raven's cry

Narcissa’s head whipped around, searching behind her. The gathering gloom made it difficult to discern shapes.

“I can smell your fear from here.” The familiar voice came from behind her once again - the opposite direction of just moments prior.

Narcissa was no fool, she disapparated with a pop. (Narcissa had never seen a Muggle horror movie, but if she had, I guarantee the witch would have been shocked by the characters idiotic enough to stand around talking to the big bad.)

She quickly stepped across the wards and stood, ramrod straight, waiting. The strong magic layered upon by generation after generation of Malfoys would stand against a creature of the night.

The sound of flapping wings on the edge woods hemming in their estate distracted her momentarily. She heard the raven’s cry - an omen.

“Were you planning to finish that apology?” His silky voice wrapped around her, causing a shiver.

He stood inches from her, appearing nearly the same as he had that last time she’d seen him. More than five years ago, on the day he’d died.

“There’s no need really. My Legilimency has been sharpened by my change. I could see your thoughts and fears from a mile away, with the way you were projecting.”

Narcissa hadn’t often looked Severus Snape in the eyes when he’d still been human; to do it now would be beyond folly. Oh, but she wanted to. She was drawn to him, nearly taking the step across the invisible line separating them.

Her chest heaved, she couldn’t seem to draw in enough air. She clutched her wand in hand, but couldn’t remember a single spell. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips; she should say something, give him some response.

“How?” Not the most eloquent thing to ever come out of her mouth.

“Oh, I think you know how these things happen.”

The Severus she had known always seems to be in motion. A tactic to leave others on edge, his constant movement meant to distract. This not-her-Severus had no such compulsion. He stood ethereally still.

“You mean how did I hide?” The smirk on his face was still exactly the same.

He glanced towards the manor behind her.

“You live alone.” It was a statement, not a question.

She still felt the need to explain. “Draco lives in a flat in London with Hermione Granger.”

“Why don’t you invite me in for some of the excellent firewhisky I am sure is even now hidden away in Lucius’ study, and I will tell you the tale?”


	5. A Kitty in the Pocket?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: Theodore Nott, whiskey tumbler, lightening, bookcase, “I’ve been here all along. You just didn't notice."

Theo tipped his head back, holding the hand-cut crystal whiskey tumbler against his lips until no liquor remained. Liquid courage.

Blaise had given him directions to a shop in Muggle London that could help with a not so small problem many of Theo’s compatriots were having, five years on from the end of the war. Theo appeared with a crack in an alley two blocks from the store.

“Did you hear that?” a Muggle just a couple of meters from his hidden spot asked. “I forgot my umbrella today, I hope it isn't about to rain.”

Theo glanced up thankfully at the overcast sky as a second voice answered, “I didn't see any lightening, but we could pop into the corner pub for an ale and see if anything comes of it.”

Theo rounded the corner once he reckoned the two men were gone, and headed towards a neon green sign flashing the words _Dirty Diana_. That tosser Blaise had lied about the establishment being discreet.

Theo found himself standing before a window displaying female mannequins in the most compromising positions, wearing risque clothing (or lack thereof) and props Theo didn’t want to admit he’d imagined conjuring once or twice. What the fuck had Blaise been thinking sending him to this den of Muggle iniquity?

Before he had a chance to second guess his decision to come here and turn heal, the door popped open and three gorgeous giggling women roughly his age spilled out. One raked her eyes appreciatively up and down Theo. Maybe he should go in after all, he thought as he watched three shapely jean-clad arses walk away with bags of just bought items swinging next to them.

The clerk behind the counter barely glanced up from her book as Theo entered. The woman had large holes in her ears and a multitude of colorful tattoos. Theo tried not to stare. When no greeting was offered, Theo stood momentarily nonplussed by his dual reaction of relief at not having to interact and surprise at the rudeness.

He slid towards what he assumed to be bookshelves at first glance, but they turned out to be racks of dvds. He vaguely remembered learning in Muggle Studies about the possibility of movies causing seizures, so he moved right along. Plus, he didn't own the electronic device needed to watch them.

He came upon a floor to ceiling display of devices for women that stretched as far as the eye could see. Bloody hell. What was wrong with Muggle women? Or was something lacking in Muggle men? Or all men?

Oh, Salazar, maybe Muggle penises were completely different from wizard penises?

Theo’s cock was nowhere near as pretty as anything on display. In fact, it was downright ugly in comparison.

It wasn't teal blue, candy floss pink, or sunshiney yellow. His member wasn't that long or thick. It certainly remained free of nubs and extra ridges.

Theo’s cock couldn't twirl, vibrate, or pulsate.

Wait! Realistic feel! Finally, something he could compete with!

He was feeling a bit smug, until he saw the guarantee of multiple orgasms. He may have once tried to convince Daphne that his tongue was capable of something similar, to entice her into a broom cupboard with him. He’d been seventeen and overconfident. She’d been gracious enough not to call him out on the exaggeration.

Oh Merlin! What were Muggles doing bringing rabbits and dolphins into bed with them?

He’d been so entranced the clerk managed to sneak up next to him. “Something I can help you find?”

Theo startled. He glanced around. There was another group of cute Muggle women just down the aisle from him, oohing and ahhing as they passed products back and forth between themselves.

Theo self-consciously mumbled the name of the item Blaise promised would be infinitely better than the past few years of wanking.

“What was that?” the woman asked. Theo’s face turned red as he enunciated, “I'm looking for a pocket pussy.”

Oh course, he managed to time it just when the little party of women went quiet. They all turned and stared.

“Pervert,” one whispered snidely as she turned away.

“Oh yes, I’m the pervert in the shop chock full of items meant for your solo pleasure. So abundantly stocked, I can't find anything meant for straight men beyond the dvds, and their holes would certainly chafe,” he retorted under his breath. An airy laugh erupted around the corner. The head of blonde hair which followed the sound was unmistakable, even if Luna Lovegood’s clothing was more Muggle than he'd imagined her capable of.

He knew he must look like a deer caught in a _Lumos_. It only got worse when she appeared to use Legilimency to read his mind.

“I've been here all along. You just didn't notice,” she declared.

He couldn't decide what to do as his thoughts all jumbled into a chaotic heap.

The clerk moved away as Luna moved next to his frozen body.

She pointed at a few things on the wall. “I've got this one, those two, and more toys back at my flat from other sections you haven't even explored yet. And I can definitely promise realistic feel.” She smiled slyly.

Most of his body relaxed when her hand slid into his. He fervently hoped the part which began to stand at attention after her invitation would measure up.

Otherwise, he thought, glancing one last time at the wall and spotting a certain device, he may have to worry what spells Luna knew involving _Gemino_.


	6. Overlooked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: Daphne Greengrass, hairpin, Red Fox Lipstick, chocolate, “It’s called ‘having fun’. You should try it sometime.”

Daphne roughly yanked hairpin after hairpin out, pulling strands of hair along with each one. A pile grew on her dressing table as angry tears fell down her face. The new tube of Red Fox Lipstick turned out to be a complete waste. The only man who paid her any mind that evening was Gregory Goyle, the lummox.

And even he had the temerity to tell her, "It's called 'having fun'. You should try it sometime," when she'd turned down his offer of a dance.

As per usual, Astoria stole the spotlight at the gala. No one remembered Daphne Greengrass even existed when the future Missus Malfoy showed off the 10 carat heirloom which had only recently begun weighing down her hand.

Astoria managed to be the center of attention from the moment she was born, and by now Daphne had nearly resigned herself to being the overlooked one.

She should know better than to get her hopes up. She'd always figured if she could just achieve the "next thing", life would turn in her favor. 

If she could learn to be more dainty and ladylike, she would be the one her parents fawned over. If she could perfect her charm work, she would be the one teachers praised and awarded points to. If she could prove her worth in a suddenly changed world, she would be the one landing a fiance.

She stared at herself in the mirror; hair standing out at odd angles, skin blotchy, and eyes bloodshot. The situation called for chocolate and red wine, as she plotted the "next thing".


	7. Baked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts from LightofEvolution: "The Minister could fire us for this.", a misunderstanding, Lucius Malfoy, a pot plant, broken glasses, purple ink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alpha love to ElleMartin and bentnotbroken1

Word came into the Auror department via Lucius Malfoy, who'd turned secret informer to avoid paying stiff fines on top of his Azkaban stint, that Rodolphus Lestrange could be found in Edinburgh. Harry quickly assigned his two top Aurors, Hermione and Draco, to bring the rogue Death Eater in.

Draco sent a memo down to the portkey department asking for one to be ready in 10 minutes with the coordinates given them by Lucius. Imagine the duo's confusion when they found themselves in the alley next to a Muggle bakery, still clutching the broken glasses which landed them there.

Hermione searched the area, looking at the other shops nearby to see if she could make some sense of their situation. Had Lucius gotten something wrong?

She rounded on Draco and hissed, "Is this a set up?"

Draco honestly didn't know what to think. His uncle had never shown any inclination towards baking, or even cooking, as far as he knew. That's what house elves were for.

Hermione grew frustrated the longer it took for her partner to answer.

 _Oh shite_. Draco's breath hitched; this had recently become his reaction when the ends of Hermione's hair began to spark in response to her ire. Whereas before the evidence of her unrestrained magic only caused trepidation, the small fiery particles now triggered desire.

Hermione hadn't missed the way Draco's pupils lately began to dilate while regarding her in certain situations. For three years they managed to work together without too many snags and she wasn't sure she wanted to jeopardize their hard won camaraderie.

At least, that's what her brain told her when he gave her a smouldering look. A very different part of her body responded quite the opposite.

 _Down girl_ , she told herself. She kept their assignment forefront in her mind, attempting to ignore how Draco's eyes flitted down to her lips as he licked his own.

"Maybe we should at least go in?" Draco managed to cut off his lascivious thoughts in order to speak.

By unspoken agreement, born of established routine, Hermione cast a Notice-Me-Not charm, an anti-apparition jinx, and kept an eye on their surroundings, while Draco surreptitiously cast a series of detection spells on the building next to them. "There's an extension charm, a Muggle Repelling charm, warming spells, and some kind of containment spell on the back half of the building."

The last one was worrisome, as it could be acting as a barrier against almost anything escaping.

The misunderstanding of where Lucius had sent them culminated when the two Aurors busted down the back door, wands blazing, expecting manticores or baby dragons, and instead found Rodolphus trimming pot plants. The spell was keeping nothing more than the strong smell in.

"Oh bollocks, I hate the reports which require purple ink," Hermione murmured to herself as they assessed the amount of evidence around them.

Draco rolled his eyes. He had long lost count of the number of times Hermione went into a rant about purple ink being only meant for a thirteen-year-old girl's journal and not Ministry documents.

"I have an idea." Draco's voice took on a seldom-heard mischievous edge.

"Let's hear your brilliant idea, then."

"We haven't called for back-up yet," he noted the obvious, using the toe of his dragonhide boot to nudge the stunned and tied up Death Eater on the floor. "Who's to know if there is a bit less evidence?" He cocked an eyebrow.

She stared at him in disbelief.

"What? Aren't you curious what it's like to not be so straight-laced all day, every day?"

She continued to stare at him in disbelief.

"Come on Granger, live a little." He smirked as he saw her back straighten in regards to his challenge.

Hermione chose not to ask where Draco learned a spell to infuse marijuana into the brownies he bought from the bakery out front.

Half an hour later, they sat on a conjured sofa together, attempting to fill out their report as Hermione kept giggling, "You know the Minister could fire us for this."

Hermione felt freer than she had in ages. She gave Draco a flirtatious look as she pulled her hair from its ties and shook the curls out. She giggled again at her own daring.

"I'm excellent at keeping secrets." Draco's voice took on a husky edge as he leaned towards her conspiratorially.

He couldn't help thinking that angry Hermione had nothing on unrestrained Hermione. Draco's arm moved up to the back of the couch and his fingers twined into her hair seemingly of their own volition.

The laughter died on her lips as her eyes widened and her heartbeat sped up.


	8. Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: broken wards, bloody handprint, howling wind, "You would do well not to cross him."

He'd been in charge of the hunt for Hermione Granger for years. The Dark Lord personally gave Draco Malfoy the assignment immediately after she escaped the downfall of The Order of The Phoenix at Hogwarts.

The first time his team found hers, he only caught glimpses of her as across the battlefield, fighting as if she moved to music. He obsessively watched the memory of her fluid motions in his Pensieve for months afterwards.

The third time he discovered her hiding spot, they were locked in a duel for nearly 20 minutes before he lay prone on his back, under her spell. She stood above him, an inscrutable look in her eyes. The others who'd fought around them were either dead or long since fled. He figured he would be joining the former group shortly.

Instead, she knelt next to him and showed him her cut hand before pressing it against his cheek. She held it there, leaving a bloody handprint on the left side of his face as she leaned even closer to whisper in his right ear. Her sweet breath tickled his neck while her wild hair caressed everywhere his skin lay bare.

"My blood is still just as red as yours, and everyone else's, Malfoy."

She pulled back just enough to disapparate, leaving him alone with a hard cock.

The seventh time they fought, he didn't realize it was her at first. She'd been Polyjuiced into a teenage boy. After taking down Dean Thomas, he turned in time to witness the unknown boy eviscerate Thorfinn Rowle. He recognized her fighting style; staying his hand instead of sending a curse at her in the back.

He'd feared the howling wind on the Salisbury Plains would tear his voice away as he called out, "Granger!"

Somehow she heard him, although he doubted anyone else did above the din of battle. She'd turned and looked at him, chest heaving as she panted from exertion.

Salazar, how could he possible find the sight of a teenage wizard sexy? But he did. Merlin help him.

Thankfully, his fantasies of fucking her, instead of the shrew of a wife his parents chose, never altered to include the boy.

The thirteenth time was the third in row he found her alone. He stood back watching her take on both the Carrow twins at once. He'd smirked with satisfaction when the bitches lay dead at her feet. There'd been no one else with him that day, so there'd been no one else to hear his warning to her regarding Antonin Dolohov.

"You would do well not to cross him."

He made sure he went alone the next time, hoping she would be alone again too. He planned to defect. She'd have no choice but to believe him when he kissed her. He arrived too late, finding only her broken wards.


	9. A Walk in the Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No prompts really, just a dare to try to write something shipping Harry and Neville

"You seem so... happy, since leaving the Auror Department," Harry said hesitantly, gripping his still full glass of firewhisky.  
  
"I'm feeling more relaxed. Taking my time to explore the woods - the world," Neville replied, leaning back in his chair. He'd only left his Ministry position four months ago, but he already seemed a completely different wizard from the one Harry had spent the past two years working with.  
  
"I'm not sure I know how to relax," Harry admitted, looking around the pub, cataloguing the people staring.

The Three Broomsticks wasn't very full on a Thursday evening.  Still, every eye present was either currently, or had been previously, upon Harry and Neville.  Sure, some were better than others at stealing covert glances.  Harry guessed he should be happy no one had tried to approach them yet.  
  
"I could show you," Neville smiled. "Come out with me on a hike this weekend. No one around to stare at the 'War Heroes' in the forest."  
  
Harry took a sip of his drink. "I think I'd like that."

"I have a cabin hidden by charms in the Lake District.  We can spend Saturday night out there and make it a proper getaway." Neville toyed with the basket of chips between them.

Harry stared down into his drink, swirling it on the tabletop, contemplating the amber liquid.  His eyes met Neville's as he lifted it to his lips to take a long pull.

"That sounds perfect."


	10. Which Weasley?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slytherin Cabal Drabble Prompt response: Severus Snape, Snakes, Purple, Sparkles, Weasley Twins

“A galleon on Fred Weasley,” Pomona grinned.

“Two on George,” Filius joined the banter in the professors’ lounge, throwing two coins into the pile.

Pomona raised her brows before pulling an additional Galleon out of her pocket.

“I’ll call the two galleons on Fred,” Minerva chimed in.

Severus glowered as he stood before his assembled colleagues, watching them take bets on which of the Weasley twins had charmed every set of robes he owned to leave a trail of sparkles behind him.

He fumed - his dramatic flounces were completely ruined.

* * *

 

”Ten sickles it was George Weasley,” Aurora hissed out of the corner of her mouth to Minerva as they watched Argus nail yet another decree to the wall.

“My money’s on Fred,” Filius whispered from in front of the two witches, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

“Hem, hem,” a fake cough needlessly sounded from the bottom of Argus’ ladder. “Educational Decree number seventeen forbids any student from tampering with the staff‘s personal effects.”

Albus leaned imperceptibly forward behind the two witches to murmur, “It would take the Weasley twins’ combined skills to turn everything that women owns purple."

* * *

 

”Has anyone figured out the culprit yet?” Pomona asked Poppy.

“Filius’ Galleons are on George Weasley slipping Severus a potion in his coffee,” Poppy replied.

Pomona cocked her head to the side, studying the usually dour Potions master. He sat next to Irma, reciting limericks for the blushing librarian.

Pomona looked back to Poppy. “I’m putting my money on Fred. I’m not betting on someone tricking Severus into drinking an unknown substance, and Fred has the stronger Charms skills."

* * *

 

”Hee haw, hee haw!” The donkey bray rang out across the Great Hall, startling all the professors and students alike.

Most of the room’s occupants had been prepared to ignore the first round or two of Dolores’ throat clearing when she’d stood to address them.

She didn't appear pleased to have gained their rapt attention.

Dolores opened her mouth again, emitting the same loud noise. She quickly snapped her jaw shut.

As the laughter rang out in the cavernous room, her eyes narrowed in on the Weasley twins. Both raised their goblets of pumpkin juice in a salute to her, mouthing, “Cheers!”

“Five Galleons on George Weasley,” Severus quietly intoned amid the ruckus.

“I’m not taking that bet,” Minerva told him.

Severus looked to his other side.

“It wouldn't be fair for me to place wagers upon events I have already seen,” Sybill airily informed him.

Severus rolled his eyes.

Later that afternoon, Dolores stood with her lips still clamped tightly together as she watched Argus hang a new Educational Decree regarding students hindering a professor's ability to speak.

* * *

 

“This one is feels vindictive, even for the twins,” Poppy sighed.

Charity nodded in agreement. She had just walked the fifth Slytherin of the day, Pansy Parkinson, into the infirmary.

The students kept showing up with their shoelaces transfigured into snakes which were biting their ankles. Luckily none has been poisonous thus far.

Severus had already brewed an anti-venom potion Poppy was keeping on hand, just to be safe.

“A smart witch would put their money on a different Weasley this time,” Albus said with a wink, as he came in to speak with Miss Parkinson.

Charity cracked a smile. "I'm going to see if the betting pool is still open in the lounge."


End file.
